Spitball Army

I will be the first to admit (because no one else can do it for me) that I resisted spending even the smallest amount of time listening to Mason Jennings recordings for several years.  The reason, simply, was that I was under the impression that he was part of the “contemporary Christian” musical movement.  I was avoiding him for the same reasons that I avoided Steven Curtis Chapman, Caedmon’s Call, Third Day, or any of an embarassingly large number of artists whose work seems to put music second to the “message.”

I will admit that, in this case, I made a mistake.

Mason Jennings, as I view him now, is one of a smaller group of artists – Sufjan Stevens, among them – who aim to create an art that fuses music, poetry, and performance technique into a vibrant whole.  That his, and their, religious proclivities flavor the work is quite different than any of them attempting to shove God through the listeners’ ears into their throats.  Jennings’ comfort with his spiritual views, as they appear in his songs, is, in fact, refreshingly human and endearing.

I came slowly to Boneclouds, Jennings’ 2006 album.  His record label proposed using “If You Need A Reason” on that year’s Laser’s Edge CD sampler.  I had an opportunity to say, “No thanks, he’s just too Christian,” and I had an option to display a modicum of professionalism and maturity.  Guess which road I chose to travel…  Then, during our months-long promotional period, I had many chances to listen to Boneclouds in its entirety.  I found it to be a “grower.”  It became one of my go-to discs when I wanted something fresh to listen to.  I eventually started listening to it in my truck.

Last year’s soundtrack to the Todd Haynes film I’m Not There featured two Bob Dylan covers by Jennings (“The Times They Are A-Changin'” and “The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll”) that were among the highlights of the two-disc set.  So it was with excitement that I heard the news about a new Mason Jennings album.  I bought In The Ever immediately, no coaxing required.

One of the things about the performances on the new CD that I find engaging is also a characteristic of Jennings’ singing that previously annoyed me: scooping.  Scooping is the style of getting to a musical note not by landing solidly on it, but by sliding up or down the scale toward it.  Jennings does this all of the time, so much so that after a while it begins to sound natural and conversational.  I’ve accepted it and grown to enjoy it, to the point that whenever I hear him singing I feel that he is, well, talking to me.  It’s a vocal twist that Jonathan Richman has used for his entire career and, aside from the fact that Jonathan doesn’t sell out sports arenas, it hasn’t hurt his career one bit.

Mason Jennings and Jonathan Richman: separated at birth?  You decide:
[audio:Mason_Jennings___Your_New_Man.mp3]
“Your New Man,” from In The Ever (2008)
Now I’ve begun wondering if Mason Jennings speaks that way, too.  Jonathan’s singing and speaking voices are nearly identical.  To wit:
[audio:Jonathan_Richman___Monologue_About_Bermuda_(excerpt).mp3]
excerpt from “Monologue About Bermuda” by Jonathan Richman (1991)

Lyrically, Jennings’ songs have an element of childlike wonder to them.
[audio:Mason_Jennings___Moon_Sailing_on_the_Water.mp3]
“Moon Sailing on the Water,” from Boneclouds (2006)

But one of the really intriguing features of Jennings’ writing is how many of his lyrics exist as simultaneous references to both God and people.  This passage from In The Ever‘s “Never Knew Your Name”:

We fell in love in the woods,
In the Hollywood Hills,
In the death of a friend,
In the bottles and pills,
Through war and at peace I’ve felt you the same.
I’ve been loving you forever, but I never knew your name.

That lyric neatly dovetails into “I Love You And Buddha Too,” in which Jennings pleads the case for a universal spirituality, aided by a rollicking piano-driven beat and Jack Johnson’s backing vocals.

Which is not to say that Jennings would be nothing without his God connection.  “Memphis, Tennessee” is a lively evocation of Freewheelin’-era Bob Dylan, with its guitar and harmonica accompaniment framing Dylanesque lines like “Rain outside my window / Rain inside my head / Loneliness inside my heart / Emptiness in my bed, Girl, emptiness in my bed.”  Or the poetic declamations of “In Your City”:

When I got off the bus, it was six in the evening
Snow was blowing across the intersection
For the last six hours I’ve been lost in the book
So it took me a second to remember what I was doing
Standing in the middle of a bustling sidewalk
Under barren branches silhouetted by streetlamps
I reached into my overcoat pocket
And brought out a letter with your address on it.

Lovely and simple, and framed, elegantly, by a single piano.  Did I mention that Jennings plays practically ever instrument on the new record?  Color me impressed.